


The long way 'round

by RedSnow1



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Angst, Awesome Clara Oswin Oswald, Cute, F/M, Falling In Love, Fate & Destiny, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Sweet, Twelfth Doctor Era, Twelveclara, Weddings, star-crossed lovers, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:07:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24039376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedSnow1/pseuds/RedSnow1
Summary: A Doctor and a teacher meet at a wedding and elope.That sounds like the beginning of a very bad joke - but what if it is the start of a beautiful story?Twelve/Clara AU.
Relationships: Twelfth Doctor/Clara Oswin Oswald
Comments: 21
Kudos: 51





	1. Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to my first Doctor Who multi-chapter!
> 
> I hope you will enjoy this story as much as I love writing it. I recently fell in love with Twelve and Clara, read pretty much every fanfiction and decided to create my own at last! 
> 
> English is not my first language, and I hope it won't bother you. I try my best! Thank you to my friend @moonstruckfool who helped me out with my grammar. Kudos to Amélie and Camille for supporting me!
> 
> Enjoy!

_ “Meeting you was like _

_ listening to a song _

_ for the first time _

_ and knowing it _

_ would be my  _

_ favorite.” _

* * *

Clara Oswald didn’t really like weddings. Well, except those in cheesy movies and sentimental books — mostly because they were so far from reality and always perfect.  _ And they lived happily ever after… _ Wouldn’t that be exactly what she wanted? It was probably why she loved romance novels so much: it was giving her exactly what she was craving for.

Perhaps it was also the reason she could never find happiness. Perhaps she had tried too hard to find herself a Mr Darcy. Perhaps she had to accept the fact that he was not real. Over the years, she had read many books, watched many movies hoping that her existence would be thrilling and filled with adventures. Hoping that she would find meaningful love like Elizabeth Bennett had. Turned out, her everyday life was not exciting at all. It was all right, though. Quiet. Boring. Normal. Too normal. And most certainly not perfect. But was anything ever?

She had met people. Some of them were good, some of them were bad. People she could have grown to love, to care about. And yet, every time, she would find herself stuck in a routine, stuck in a relationship that didn’t seem to have a purpose. She wanted more. She wanted to feel, she wanted the love those books had promised her.

Clara Oswald had always believed that there was a right person for everyone. All she had to do was to find them. They could be anywhere. Perhaps, they were not even born yet. But she would wait. In the end, it was worth it. Her parents had been proof of that. Her father, whenever she saw him, would still tell the story of how her parents had met, how a leaf had brought them together, how he knew from the start that she was the one. His eyes would water at the memory of his wife, and so would hers. She missed her mother. She missed seeing her parents blissfully, deliriously in love. She missed having proof that soulmates existed.

Clara Oswald didn’t really like weddings, but when her best friend had begged her to be her bridesmaid for her wedding in April, she hadn’t had the heart to refuse. Amelia Pond had shaped her: they had grown to adulthood together, had studied literature for years in the same university, shared an apartment. Amelia Pond knew how to make her laugh, knew what to say when she cried. They knew each other better than anyone else; they were sisters in a way. No, she couldn’t let Amy down. Not on a day like this. Not when it was important to her.

And here she was, standing in the middle of this magnificent property just outside of London, wearing the pink cocktail dress her friend had sent over. She had fought against her better judgement for her best friend, and here she was, lost in a crowd of strangers, nursing a glass of wine in a corner while everyone else was dancing. The music was loud, she could hear laughter. Amy, in her long white wedding dress, was swooning in the middle of the dance floor in her husband’s arms. Her fiery hair was gathered in a beautifully messy bun. Clara smiled, staring at her. She was proud of her best friend. She and Rory were absolutely adorable.

The wedding had been beautiful; seeing all of her friend’s family gathered for the beginning of her new life had brought tears to her eyes. She had done her duty as a bridesmaid during the whole ceremony, not even daring to meet the eyes of the strangers filling the chapel. Amelia and Rory had exchanged their vows, promising to love each other for eternity. It was beautiful. It was sad. Part of her felt as if she was saying goodbye to her friend forever. But Clara was happy for Amy. She was in love: she deserved it. And Rory Williams truly was the best person she could have ever found.

“Clara — it is Clara, isn't it? Would you like to dance ?”

Startled, the young woman focused back on the man in front of her. He seemed worried and slightly embarrassed. She had forgotten all about him, too lost in her thoughts. Oh, dear. What was his name again? Scott? Yes, Scott. Rory’s friend. She remembered now. Amy had introduced them — Oh, damn that ginger. Even on the day of her wedding, she couldn’t leave her alone. She could see it now, the big plan: it was nothing but another attempt to salvage her love life. For years, Amy had tried to set her up with friends, with people she had worked with, people she barely knew. 

It wasn’t the first time and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. 

She couldn’t be mad at her. Amy Pond was happy, and so she wanted the surrounding people to be as well. But however genuine his intentions were, they were unwelcome.

Scott sighed, awaiting an answer. She shook her head. What was he saying again? Oh, right. Dancing.

“Actually — I think I smudged my lipstick. I’ll be right back.” She said, handing him her empty glass of wine.

Scott nodded, running his free hand through his hair. He was sweet — that much she could see. His smile was adorable, and he was not bad looking: blond, tall, short hair, a bit of beard. He cleaned up nicely, wearing a black suit, white shirt and a matching bow tie. He was agreeable, and quite a gentleman too. What was wrong with her? She had such a nice man in front of her, and yet, here she was, running away. She just couldn’t fake it: she was not curious about him. He was dull. Their conversations led nowhere. There was nothing arousing her interest. She wanted more. She needed more. He just wasn’t it.

Clara Oswald quietly left the poor man behind and went in the general direction of the bathroom. The atmosphere had become quite overwhelming as she felt somehow guilty for not making an effort. Clara took a deep breath, hiding behind a wall to quieten her beating heart. The way she saw it, she had two choices. She could either come back and dance with him, pretend that she enjoyed his company and wait for the evening to end or run away from it all. She sighed and eyed at the room once more. Scott was sipping his drink, roaming the room with his eyes. Amy was busy kissing her husband. No one would notice her absence. Scott would find another girl to share a dance with. She could leave. She wanted to leave.

The young woman had made her choice. Carefully, she took off her high heels and ran away from the dance-floor, from the crowd, from the noise. She didn’t look back as she left. She didn’t know why she was running, but her instincts had kicked in and she couldn’t stop herself. She smiled, feeling free, and spotted a corridor she hadn’t explored before. At the end of it, an old wooden door stood still and closed. Wherever it would lead her didn’t matter: she wanted to be alone for a minute, far away from them all. 

She finally pushed the door open, revealing the property’s magnificent garden, sighing in relief when she felt a gush of wind brushing her face. Amy and Rory had booked such an extraordinary venue for their wedding. It was a shame that everyone was spending their time inside instead of enjoying the outside view. The air was chilly, but she welcomed the goosebumps with great pleasure. Heels in hand, she let her bare feet touch the grass, and she smiled. The ground was cold, and she felt alive, her heart hammering inside her chest. Clara turned her head towards the sky, appreciating the beauty of the night and closed her eyes to take it all in. The stars were shining bright tonight, despite the clouds.

It felt good to be away from the crowd and the noise for a moment. It felt good to feel so small in this universe.

Suddenly, somebody cleared their throat next to her, and startled, she turned to her side to stare at the stranger. She hadn’t noticed she was not alone.

To her surprise, there was a man sitting on the stairs leading to the pond. She smiled at him — but his face remained severe, lightened by the nearby lantern. It was the eyebrows; she thought. He had thick bushy eyebrows as grey as his curly hair. Or perhaps it was his blue eyes that seemed to have seen misery? She couldn’t tell.

The man looked in his fifties — dressed with a velvety burgundy coat and a pair of black trousers. That was unusual and quite out of the ordinary, she thought.

She made a step towards him. She couldn’t understand why, but she did it anyway.

  
  


* * *

Doctor John Smith didn’t really like weddings. It reminded him of hurtful memories. Of a woman, dressed in white, with beautiful blonde curls and a smile that shone brighter than the sun. Of days filled with happiness and love… until it had all withered and died. Or rather  _ she  _ had. 

But when his former student and new colleague had begged him to come to his wedding, he hadn’t had the heart to refuse. Over the years, he had grown quite fond of the quiet and discreet Rory Williams. He was a wise boy with a bright future in front of him. He had watched him grow, learn, become a nurse and then a proper doctor. John felt pride in having taught that young man how to save lives, seeing in him, perhaps, someday, someone to carry his torch. Rory seemed to consider him a hero; he could see it in the way the young man looked at him. It has been his most absolute pleasure than to delight Rory with his presence on this very special day.

However, John Smith wasn’t keen on social gatherings. Never had been. He had always been awkward, especially to those he didn’t know.  _ Socially awkward _ , River used to say, and she was right. River was always right. So, to avoid making a fool of himself, he had stayed behind during the ceremony, carefully wiping a tear of his wrinkled face when the beautiful couple had exchanged vows. He hadn’t danced nor talked much during the reception, enjoying his scotch from the back of the ballroom. There had been speeches and meals. Wine and champagne. John had sat with his other colleagues but had remained silent, lost in his thoughts. Rory and Amy had stopped by on their rounds to thank him for coming. He had congratulated the newlyweds on their beautiful wedding. After that, he had gone exploring the premises instead. It was time to dance, and the ballroom was too noisy and crowded for him. His steps had led him through a beautiful-looking door at the end of a very empty corridor that seemed to withhold many secrets. Secrets and mysteries. That was exactly what he loved. He had pushed it open, revealing the garden the other guests had gushed about. From outside, he could still hear the music for the party was raging. But at last, he was alone with his memories.

The Doctor found a quiet spot outside and sat down on the white stairs. The venue was beautiful and surrounded by an equally magnificent garden. From his seat, he had a lovely view of a wide and quiet pond in which swans swam about. He could hear the wind ruffling the grass and blowing on the trees. That made him feel safe, somehow. He patted his coat and realized he had forgotten his pack of cigarettes in his room. The Ponds, as he liked to call them, had insisted he should stay for the night and had lent him a nice room upstairs. He hadn’t spent much time in it, but obviously enough to forget what was important. He sighed, disappointed. Perhaps it was better this way; his wife had always frowned upon his habit of smoking at parties. He didn’t really need it. But again, River was gone, so she really didn’t have a say in this anymore. He shrugged. He had thought about quitting for good anyway. 

_ About damn time _ , she would have said.

John Smith sighed heavily, and shook his head, trying to get rid of his beautiful wife’s image that kept on haunting him, even years after. Perhaps Missy was right. Perhaps he needed to go out more, stop rambling the same thoughts over and over again. Meet new people, discover the world. He glanced at the stars above his head. There was so much to see and do.

Perhaps his best-friend was right. He needed to distract himself from the fact that he was alone now. And he would always be.

As if the heavens had heard him, at this exact instant, the doors behind him opened, and he slightly jumped, surprised that someone had found his hiding place. He turned around and frowned. There stood a young woman. She didn’t seem to be aware of his presence.

She was out of breath, clutching her high heels in her hand, and he couldn’t help but notice that she was ridiculously small without them. She was wearing a pale dress — was it blue? Pink? He couldn’t really tell for it was too dark to see properly, and he had forgotten his glasses along with his cigarettes. She looked like a modern-day Cinderella, making her way home from the ball. He watched the tension leaving her body as she breathed the fresh air and noticed a smile on her shadowed face. 

He cleared his throat, and as soon as he did, he chastised himself. What was he thinking? The last thing he wanted was to be noticed, or worse, to disturb her moment of bliss. But she had the right to know that she was not alone — Only God knew why she had come here in the first place. The strange woman immediately turned her gaze towards him and smiled. He blushed and hoped that the night was hiding his complexion. He had expected her to be afraid, but she was not. He stared at her, unsure of what to say. Should he get up and leave her to it? She tilted her head, confused, and took a step forward.

“You are missing the party.” She said simply, after a while.

Her tone was between cheerfulness and reproachfulness, and he could already tell that she was a bossy woman. She reminded him of a teacher he had once had when he was a wee boy. He had never been able to understand her for she always sent mixed messages, just like the young woman did. John bit his lower lip. It had been so long since he had met someone new, someone he didn’t have to work with or for, he couldn’t tell whether she was actually angry at him. Besides, John Smith had never been good at human connection. River constantly reminded him of that. But River was gone, and he had to stop thinking about what she would say. He turned his gaze back to the pond so he didn’t have to look at her.

“So are you.” He whispered, using the same tone.

She chuckled and the tension eased. She chuckled and he allowed himself to relax for she didn’t seem to threaten his quietude. Hopefully, she would leave soon. Hopefully, he would be able to return to his thoughts. To his dead wife.

“Fair point.” She said joyfully. “Mind if I join?” She added after a while.

He watched her once more and took his time to study her. She was closer now, only a couple of steps away from him, shivering. The garden lamp was now lightening her very round face, framed by her brown hair. It was shoulder-length, quite straight and yet perfectly groomed. He thought she had a very funny nose, turned upward. It was not vile, nor beautiful — but it suited her. Her pink bustier dress softened her features: it was long enough not to be provocative, yet short enough to reveal quite a bit of her toned legs. There were a bit too many flowers embroidered on the dress to his taste, but maybe he was over-analysing everything. Maybe it didn’t matter so much. Maybe she was a beautiful young woman, and it was the most important. What struck him most, however, were her eyes. Big, inflating dark eyes that seemed ready to swallow him whole — and yet, specks of light peppered in them. Waves of emotions. A brand new world. A hurricane. It was truly hypnotizing.

He frowned. He had never seen eyes like these and had to remind himself that staring was considered rude. John Smith turned his face away. She cleared her throat, waiting for his answer. The Doctor shrugged but said nothing. There was nothing he could do to make her leave, nothing to prevent her from staying. But he did not doubt that his presence would soon come to be a burden to her. She would leave. They all did, eventually. 

The young woman sat beside him, on the stairs, and joined him in his contemplation of nature. She was silent, shivering. Her perfume brushed his nostrils; it was floral. Jasmine, perhaps? He liked it. It was fresh, new, delicate.

He stared at the stars once more. It felt nice not to be completely alone.

As long as she remained quiet, he wouldn’t mind a bit of company.


	2. Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara and John talk and get to know each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!
> 
> Thank you so much for your warm welcome! I am glad you thought the beginning was interesting! Here is Chapter 2 for you, which I hope you will enjoy as equally!  
> I do not have a pattern for updating, I make it up as I go!
> 
> Again, thank you to @moonstruckfool for the corrections <3
> 
> Enjoy

_ “I never know why. I only know who.”  _ The Eleventh Doctor.

  
  
  


* * *

They sat side by side in a comfortable silence — which, he had to be honest, was not often something he had experienced. It was not heavy — nor was it light. It was there, serene and somehow warm. The woman next to him didn’t seem to mind his presence. People usually did. They said his quietness made them uneasy. Or so his best-friend, Missy kept on telling him. Disregarding that, he did his best not to breathe too loudly, not to bother her and break her trance. She was as equally quiet, lost in the landscape in front of her, her dreamy eyes roaming between the garden, the pond and the sky as if she was trying to decide on which to settle. He recognized the look on her face, the one he had seen in so many of his students before. He grinned softly. She wanted to know more. How the universe was made, why she was here. She wanted to understand it all. She wanted to see things. The world. The galaxies. She wanted to escape. To live. To experience. To explore. 

Most people he had met in his life seemed empty, dull. She wasn’t. There was such fire in her eyes. He had seen those fleeting gazes before, in the person of River Song. River — Oh, she couldn’t stop running. And neither could he, for she had managed to bring him with her on her every adventure. Perhaps they should have stopped. Perhaps, it would have made it better. He sighed. Now was not a good time to think about his dead wife. Not when he was in such nice company. 

John Smith quickly glanced at the woman next to him, half-expecting her to engage him in conversation. Did he want her to? He had to admit that he was quite curious as to why she was spending her time with him. Women her age liked to party, or so he remembered. But he didn’t know her name, let alone her age. Who was he to judge? He silently snorted. An old fool who couldn’t understand what she was doing outside, with a man probably twice her age, when she could be dancing with her friends. 

“Are you here for the bride?” He finally asked, rupturing the heavy silence between them.

She glanced towards him, shocked, somehow, that he would address her. He was surprised too. Usually, he wasn’t the one engaging in a conversation since he often found himself having trouble with small talks. He didn’t know why he had done it, or why her of all people. Maybe it was the atmosphere. Maybe it was the fact that it was just the two of them, and that he was most likely never to see her again, after that night. Maybe he was just lonely — and tired to be. But as the words escaped his mouth, he saw her grin. 

“Best friend and bridesmaid. What about you?”

He thought he had seen her before, but he wasn’t so sure. After all, he hadn’t seen much from the back of the church. But now that she mentioned it, John could remember her from the chapel — she had been one of the girls lifting the bride’s veil. Many bridesmaids had gathered around Amy Pond, but she had caught his gaze. His eyes had been set on the happy couple, his mind drifting to a time that was gone, and out of his reach when he had noticed her, so tiny next to the bride. She was not bubbly nor confident as she was right now. He remembered her because of all the people gathered in this room, he had thought she looked sad. Probably because she thought that all the eyes were on Amy, that no one would see her. She was smiling, yes. But it was a sorrowful grin that hadn’t fooled him. Two emotions at once, like she was malfunctioning in this room filled with bliss. Her melancholy had struck him: people were not usually sad at weddings. Except for the two of them.

He sighed. He couldn’t tell her that. He couldn’t tell her that he understood. He bit his lip and the woman ran a hand through her smooth hair, playing with her locks to busy herself. He couldn’t help but notice the goosebumps on her skin. Was she cold?

“The groom. Rory Williams was my student and is now one of my esteemed colleagues.” He answered.

The brunette nodded absently before her entire face lightened in recognition. He frowned, confused: her huge brown eyes had inflated and appeared to be bigger every second, ready to swallow him whole. Her mouth dropped open, and she let out a tiny squeal before turning to face him. He froze when her hand fell unto his elbow, squeezing him tight — fighting against the urge to flinch from her touch. John Smith had never been fond of physical contact apart from those closest to him. Touch was a way to express love. To express trust. He flinched under her palm, stiff, barely breathing. She didn’t seem to notice his discomfort but she removed her hand to hide her mouth. He rubbed the back of his head, wondering what he had done to provoke such a reaction. Surely, she hadn’t heard about him.

“You are Doctor John Smith?” She finally squeaked.

Well, apparently, he was wrong. He nodded carefully and yet curious as to how she knew his name. Most people didn’t. They either forgot or never asked. But again, how many people were aware of who was in charge of an entire hospital? They knew the name of the person that cured them if they were lucky. But him? He was far away from patients now and had given up teaching a while ago. Rory Williams had been one of the last to enjoy his classes.

He was a ghost. He was no-one, and yet, perhaps the most important person in the hospital.

But the woman’s smile broadened, and the dark pools in her eyes were filled with lights. Flames of pride and adoration. What has he done to ignite them in her?

“Rory wouldn’t shut up about you!” She exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. “You are his hero! He is so smitten with you I even thought at some point that he was in love with you.”

The Doctor found himself chuckling shyly at the joke, and the woman next to him looked pleased with his reaction. Her smile was incredibly pleasant, revealing her white and even teeth. Had he been brave, he would have told her that she beamed stronger than the sun. But he didn’t want her to think that he was flirting when he was only stating the obvious. Besides, they had only just met. He respected her too much to risk making her uncomfortable.

He sighed, replaying her last words in his head. Hero? No, he was no hero. Heroes changed the world, and what had he done? He had saved a few people, but not the one that really mattered. He was no hero. Had he been one, maybe he would have been able to save his wife.

He closed his eyes. It was too much. He couldn’t stop picturing her, dying, again and again, while there was nothing he could do to save her.

His sad thoughts were interrupted by the young woman, and he blessed her for bringing him back into the present.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She said, holding out her hand to shake his.

Her smile was wide, her eyes shimmering. He hesitated, his hands quivering, but made a move towards her. Her skin was warm, her palm so small in his. He stared at their joined hands for a minute, frozen. She was shaking energetically, but he barely answered. He focused back on her face, the way the moon shone above her head, a halo, making her seem almost angelic. He wanted to ask for her name but was too shy to do so. He wanted to know who she was, what she did for a living. He wanted to get to know her. He couldn’t. Because he knew that tonight was all they had. And the Doctor didn’t like endings. Nothing could end if nothing had begun in the first place. Or perhaps it was already too late for that.

“Likewise.” He said simply, sadly.

She broke their handshake, and he turned away, retreating. He folded his hand against his stomach, away from her reach. His skin burnt. His heart leapt.

It was indeed, quite an unexpected pleasure.

An impossible pleasure.

* * *

Clara Oswald watched the man fall silent again and used the opportunity to study him further. She didn’t mean to pry but was honestly fascinated by this strange and lonely man. Perhaps it was the velvety coat that would catch anyone’s eye. Perhaps it was his behaviour, so different. She sighed. There was something about him — such knowledge in his eyes. As if he had seen it everything, felt everything, and lost it all. It was the eyes of a man who had lived for a long time and had been tired of it. He seemed shy and awkward in an endearing way but in his icy blue eyes, there was nothing but sorrow. Regrets. Loneliness. Anger. She wondered where that came from. He appeared to be quiet, but her late mother had always warned her.  _ It’s always the quiet ones you have to watch, Clara.  _ He didn’t seem dangerous, though. When he spoke, he was calm and composed, his tone low and serious. He had an accent — Scottish? What was his story? How had he ended up here, all of the places, with her?

“What are you running away from?” She asked joyfully, trying to restart their little chat.

He snorted softly, eyes lost beyond. Was he offended by her inquiry? His face said otherwise. Stoic, devoid of feeling. For a moment there, John was lost to her, in a place out of her reach. Was he stuck in his memories? Where in time and space had he landed? Clara slightly shifted in her seat as a gust of wind made her shiver. She didn’t mean to disturb him. After all, she had intruded on his quietude but she had forgotten to take her jacket and it was getting rather cold outside. But for nothing in the world would she leave to fetch it. Her movement, however, seemed to stir him back to reality. He cleared his throat, oblivious of his slight absence. She didn’t hold it against him.

“People. Noise. Pudding-brains. I’m not really good with crowds.” He said, dreamily. He then shook his head, and she could tell that he was back on this earth, with her. “What about you?”

She grinned when he rolled his “r’s”. His accent was quite endearing. And the terms he was using? Pudding-brains? Oh, she would have to write that down and remember it. Maybe she would use it someday to describe the students she would teach? Hopefully sooner than later: she was getting tired of babysitting.

Now that she thought about it, his explanation made sense, but she couldn’t help but feel that he was not completely honest. There was more to it than his evident introversion. There was something more to it, something, perhaps, he couldn’t say to a complete stranger. And it was all right. Even though she was thoroughly curious. 

Clara shook her head and focused back on what was in front of her. A man, waiting for an answer.

“Scott.” She simply said.

Her lips pursed when she pronounced his name. Scott Addams. Rory’s friend. Mechanic. Good-looking and empty. How could Amy think that they were a match? Could she not tell that she needed more? That she needed someone who would open her eyes on the world in front of her? He had come into her life in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Or maybe he just was not the right man. The doctor turned towards her, his eyebrows arched in a silent question.

“No, he is not my boyfriend.” John nodded, his face stoic. "Amy is trying to set me up. She introduced me to this man — but it didn’t take. I left him in the middle of the dance floor and ran away.” She stopped, horrified. He quirked a bushy eyebrow. “Oh god. That was a rude thing to do, wasn’t it?”

John Smith laughed, and it was the answer she needed. But she didn’t care about Scott. He laughed and looked at her. She couldn’t help but join him too, for his entire face lightened. Suddenly, he appeared younger, childish even, as if for a second, all of his worries had been lifted from his shoulders. His body was lighter, his eyes bright, and she noticed a dimple on his cheek. They stared at each other in silence as the wind blew stronger. Clara fought against another shiver, but this time, the man, the Doctor, caught her. He frowned, and suddenly, his light was gone. Damn wind. She didn’t want their moment to end, she didn’t want to go back inside. The night was still young, and right now, nothing seemed better than sitting here with him, chit-chatting about anything. She liked this little bubble they had created around themselves. She felt safe. She smiled, trying to reassure him, trying to convince him that everything was all right but his face had once again, gone sombre. Worried. Sad. Ever so sad.

“So you’d rather freeze outside with me?” He whispered.

It wasn’t a reproach, nor a criticism. Somehow, Clara thought there was a surprise in his voice as if he couldn’t believe that she had chosen to remain by his side. She watched him, dumbfounded, as he took off his coat. He didn’t seem to think about it twice, and he delicately put it over her shoulders, careful not to touch her bare skin as if it would have burnt him. He kept on fleeing her glance as if being a gentleman was something to be ashamed of. Clara smiled and wrapped herself in it with gratitude. It was warm, soft against her skin, and she welcomed the feeling with a wide smile. Burgundy and pink didn’t make a happy marriage, but right now, she couldn’t care less about how she looked. It was at this exact moment that she decided that despite his strange exterior, his kindness made up for it. Few people would care about a stranger enough to lend them their coat — only a perfect gentleman would. She hadn’t met many of those in her life.

“I was looking for a bit of quiet.” She whispered. Initially, she had. She had run away from this forced romance to throw herself unknowingly into another man’s arms. “Besides, you are not too bad a company. Thank you, by the way, for the coat. Won’t you be cold, now?”

He shrugged, and his face seemed to say “don’t worry about me”. She wondered whether he was aware that his face conveyed so many emotions at once. That his silence was more eloquent than his words. She had never met someone quite like this. He was a mystery, and Clara Oswald loved mysteries. Now stripped of his velvety coat, she could see his white shirt and black waistcoat — a formal attire for a wedding but evidently not enough to keep him warm. He had done something for her, now it was time she repaid the favour.

Clara made a decision. She rose, and he watched her do so, perhaps afraid that she would abandon him. Carefully, she patted her dress to remove the dirt. She smiled and held out her hand towards him. He stared at it for a while, before fixing once more, his unbelievably blue eyes on her. He was confused, and she found it charming. It was his eyebrows, knitted together, dancing around, trying to make sense of it all. 

“I was thinking of going for a stroll. Do you want to join me? It might keep us warm.” She explained.

A few seconds passed, and for a moment, she thought he would leave her hanging there. But he finally nodded, and perhaps he had realized that she was not really giving him a choice.

John Smith took her hand and followed her down the path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to let me know if you enjoyed this chapter! Your comments help me get better <3


	3. Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Clara continue to bond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again,
> 
> Thank you so much for your lovely comments on my story, they make my day and push me to do better <3  
> I hope you enjoy this chapter !
> 
> Again, thank you to my friend @moonstruckfool for the lovely corrections <3
> 
> Enjoy xx

_ “The universe is big. It’s vast and complicated and ridiculous. And sometimes, very rarely, impossible things just happen and we call them miracles” _

Doctor Who.

* * *

  
  


She didn’t let go of his hand for a while, pulling him behind her. He followed; she was bossy and he had no idea where she was leading them. And quite frankly, it didn’t matter all that much. He couldn’t explain why he held on to her, refusing to let her go. Perhaps, he was afraid that if he did, she would disappear. It all seemed surreal — meeting her at a wedding, both running away from their lives. Eventually, she did let his hand go when she stopped to remove a rock that had found its way inside of her shoe. He immediately missed it, her warmth. Somehow, holding her hand made him feel strong and safe.

She led the way, walking upfront. They made their way towards the pond, having in mind to walk around it. Flowers were beginning to bloom; it was early spring. The lovely scent of roses invaded his nostrils. The garden was dimly lit, they were stumbling in the dark. Perhaps whoever had rented the venue hadn’t thought that two lonely souls would be roaming around. John was walking behind the dazzling young woman, hands in his pockets, thinking. He couldn’t help but notice that she looked ridiculous in his coat. It was far too big for her: it reached her knees, making her look like a child playing dress-up. She didn’t seem to mind, in fact, she had buttoned it up as if it were hers in the first place. He didn’t want to complain. From now on he knew that whenever he would wear that coat, he would remember her as if she had imprinted herself inside the fabric.

John Smith shook his head. Here he was, being cheesy over a woman he had barely met. A woman much younger than him. A stranger with whom he had eloped.

They were walking on a path, and he could clearly see that she was struggling to walk with her heels. Clearly, whoever had invented them hadn’t made them for hiking Once or twice, her ankle twisted, but she said nothing and kept on going. He heard her sighs of pain and the way she kept on pretending that she wasn’t hurt. She was brave — and foolish. John Smith took pity on her, and offered his arm, like the perfect gentleman he had raised himself to be. The brunette immediately took it, using it to keep steady. She grinned gratefully, and together, they kept on walking silently, observing their surroundings. 

“Do you reckon it will rain?” She asked, after a while.

He glanced up, where the clouds were slowly covering the stars — how long had they been here? They had appeared out of nowhere, creeping quietly and stealing the moonlight away from them. He had lived in England long enough to know that they were up to no good. Silent clouds like these could very easily turn into a downpour. They were staring down at humanity, ready to ruin their night. What time was it? He had lost track. He didn’t mind. He had nowhere else to be, if not by her side. He shrugged, eyes still glaring at the threatening clouds above their heads, in a silent plea.  _ Don’t ruin this. I beg of you. _

“I hope not. Or we will both catch our deaths.”

His velvety coat was warm, but not waterproof and he was only wearing his waistcoat. Thank god he had chosen to wear his Doc Martens: at least, his feet would remain dry and warm. Hers, on the other hand… Who wore cone heels in April?

They would get soaked, and catch a cold if they were lucky - or pneumonia. Would it be worth it? When he looked at her, smiling softly, her dimples showing on her cheeks, he couldn’t help but wonder. 

“You are the Doctor. You could cure us.” She playfully said, nudging him with her elbow.

He smiled, but his heart wasn’t there. Every time people referred to him as a doctor, he couldn’t help but feel nostalgic. It was the name his student called him, back in the days. He was not any doctor to them. He was  _ the Doctor _ . The surgeon who had saved so many lives. The best teacher one could hope for — or so he had heard, around the corridors. It reminded him of a time where he was appreciated and admired. Of a time when he had it all.

He was not a doctor anymore. He was just a man sitting behind an office several hours a day, doing press, making sure the hospital stood strong. The face of the hospital, they said.

“Ah, but you see, I am not a doctor anymore. Now I just run the hospital. Paperwork, mostly. Part-time, with the woman who will take over me.”

Her eyebrow quirked silently, surprise written all over her face. And he knew what she was about to say. Most people he met these days did. 

“You are retiring?”

People usually didn’t believe him when he said he was. He was still in his fifties and could continue for ten more years if he wanted to. But the truth was, John was tired. All these years he had given to science, helping people, saving them. All these years he had gone home late, missing out the lovely dinners his wife had prepared. And he had loved every second of it. The thrill of the surgery. The awe in his student’s eyes. The gratefulness in his patient’s eyes. Was it worth it?

Every second he spent mending people were seconds lost to his wife. He hadn’t seen the symptoms. He hadn’t seen her wither until it was too late.

Until he couldn’t do anything more than watch her die and hold her hand.

He was tired — and his life had slipped away from him already. Now was time to catch up on that.

He cleared his throat.

“Early retirement at the end of the year.” He found himself saying, hoping that she wouldn’t ask further questions. But he didn’t give her a chance to. “What about you, what do you do?”

She took her time to answer, a soft blush creeping through her cold cheeks. Was it — shame?

“I’m a babysitter.” She quickly said, head down, not meeting his eyes. “Though — I don’t see myself doing this anymore. I've always dreamt of being a teacher.”

He wanted to ask her about the children she was watching over, and for how long she had been doing this. He wanted to know what had led her to do that in the first place, and what was pushing her to be a teacher, of all the things she could have done. It was a discussion for another time.

But yes. He could easily picture her, standing in front of a classroom. She was small, but she had quite a presence. What would she teach? His guts were telling him that it would be English literature, and he was often right. He could easily picture her telling a bunch of kids about Jane Austen and Oscar Wilde. Bossy as she was, she wouldn’t let them take advantage of her sweet demeanour. Her round face hid her fierceness. This woman, whoever she was — she could reach for the stars if she wanted to. He was certain of it.

“You are young. You can do anything you want. The world is at your feet.”

When he looked at her, it was all he could see. A girl whose life had only just begun. A flower blooming during spring.

  
  


* * *

“If you could go anywhere, in all of time and space. Where would you go?” Clara blurted out.

It was a question she had always asked herself, the question she found herself thinking about at night when she couldn’t sleep. 

He had talked about the world belonging to her — and it had raised this inquiry again. He was right, though. She was young, and anyone who knew her would say that she was resilient. Clara Oswald didn’t give up, didn’t back down: she fought.

It was time to set her boat afloat and fight for what she wanted. But where to begin, where to go? 

The question had left her lips without her consent — it had sounded a bit rough and coming out of nowhere. He sighed and scratched the back of his neck. She noticed he did that quite a lot when he was thinking, and she thought it was sweet.

“Pompeii.” He finally replied, as if it were absolutely obvious.

It was clearly not what she had expected him to say. For some reason, she imagined him wanting to visit the 19th century. He would have fit right in, amongst the other gentlemen, bedecked in top hats and coats. From what she had read, what he had shown her, they shared the same values. Though, now that she thought about it, he would probably have to abandon his boots and velvety coat.

“Why?” She asked, genuinely curious.

“Why not?” 

She giggled and nodded. It made sense — and it didn’t. Sometimes, things were not to be explained but felt. Maybe he was drawn to art and philosophy. Maybe he just wanted to save someone before Pompeii died. She tried to imagine him wearing a toga and quickly erased that thought from her mind. Oh dear, that really wouldn’t do.

Clara brought herself closer, and their shoulders bumped. He stiffened but relaxed afterwards. He was slowly letting his walls down around her. She had noticed how careful he was, how distant he was trying to be. How she couldn’t resist being close to him and how he was coming in terms with that.

“Where would you go?” John asked in return.

She smiled softly, trying to set her mind on a place. An easy answer, just like he had told her. Only her head was filled with images of the past, the present and the future. Clara Oswald had always wanted to travel. When she was only just a child, her mother had given her a book,  _ 101 places to see _ . Every night, before going to sleep, she would point to a place, hoping that someday, she would get to visit it. She had made plans for after the university.

Europe, America — The world was not big enough for her thirst of freedom. She had saved quite a lot of money in her adolescence for that purpose.

But life had meddled, as it always did. She had remained in England, watching over the kids. And while she had loved every second of it, she knew that she was born to do more.

Clara always brought the book with her wherever she went, not only as a memory of her late mother but also as a promise to pick up where she had left off, someday.

She looked at the clouds above her head dreamily, and wondered what space was made of, and if there was more to discover. If there was another form of life up there, waiting to be discovered.

She chuckled. She was being silly.

“Somewhere magical. Exciting. I want to do something new — something reckless. I want to meet people, to feel things. I want an adventure, something more. I want —”

He was staring at her with interest, following her passionate outburst. He was attentive, kind and part of her could tell that he understood her predicament. It was in his eyes - his big blue eyes full of empathy. But she stopped. She stopped because she didn’t want to bother him with her wishful thinking. They had only just met. He probably didn’t want to hear her rambling. Her shoulder dropped, her eyes fell in front of her again sadly. He tried to catch her gaze, sensing perhaps, her sorrow, but she refused to meet his eyes. And that’s when she noticed it. Heaven Sent. 

By the pond, in front of her, she saw an abandoned boat. Battered, old, it looked like it hadn’t been used for years. It didn’t look in a bad shape, in fact, it rather looked like an adventure ready to happen. Clara took a tentative step towards it, her hand leaving his arm.

“Something like this!” She joyfully said, to answer his silent question.

And Clara Oswald rushed towards it and swiftly climbed inside. The wooden dinghy swayed, and for a minute, she thought she was going to fall down the pond, head first. But she stopped herself and found the paddle at the bottom of the hull. If she played her cards well, she could use them to leave the shore, pushing the boat into the water. Would it drown? There was only one way to find out, she thought. She turned around to see if he had followed her. John Smith had stopped right where she had left him, bewildered. Suddenly, feeling her eyes on him, he looked around to make sure no one had seen them. What Clara had done was reckless, and prohibited — but she couldn’t bring herself to care for she was too eager to run away.

She waited, paddles in hand, staring at him. There was enough space for the two of them. Enough space for an adventure, should he choose to join her. Would he? Would he dare?

He hesitated. She could see his eyebrow dancing, proof of his torment. He took a step closer. And another one.

And finally climbed next to her. The boat swayed. They didn’t fall. She smiled and so did he.

He helped her push the dinghy into the surface.

And the rain started pouring.


	4. Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara and the Doctor get reckless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there!
> 
> Thank you for your support! I'm sorry I can't update this story as much as I want to: I have a lot of university stuff to deal with...
> 
> Many thanks to my friend @moonstruckfool for the grammar corrections! You are the best <3
> 
> Enjoy reading and don't forget to let me know what you thought of this chapter!

* * *

_“Why don’t we just -- fly away somewhere?”_

_“Oh, that’d be great, wouldn’t it?”_

_“God, yeah.”_

Doctor Who, Hell Bent.

* * *

They were sailing, sailing away, under the rain. The wedding was forgotten, the music out of their reach. It was just them, in the darkness of the night, under the stars hidden behind the clouds, but if they closed their eyes, they would picture them in their heads. They were soaked, and they didn’t care. They would probably regret it the next morning but they didn’t want to think about it now. Time was too precious to be wasted on the consequences of their foolishness. They were running away, gone already, together. John Smith smiled and glanced at the brunette, his partner in crime. His coat stuck to her body, embracing her curves, her hair was dripping, her make up ruined, and yet, she still offered her face to the sky, laughing. John watched her, amazed by such carelessness. He even allowed himself to think that she was beautiful. He had tried to suppress that thought all night long, not willing to seem inappropriate. But she was, he couldn’t deny it any longer and he was hypnotized. The woman was drunk — drunk on freedom, drunk on her adventure, and he too, felt light-headed. No more weight on his shoulder, his guilt gone. He wasn’t lost in the past, nor worried about the future. He was just here, with her, alive, smiling to a world he now realized wasn’t all dark. Not when she was by his side, her and her bubbly behaviour.

John silently paddled their way into the pond, trying not to disturb the ducks and swans that were resting there. The creatures stared at him: they were obviously not used to people disrupting their peace. Stealing that boat, even for an hour was wrong. Why did it feel so right? He couldn’t get his smile off his face, even if he tried. His hands were cold and he couldn’t bring himself to mind. It was just the two of them, surrounded by nature. As perfect as it could be. They talked, shared deep thoughts and mostly laughed. Well, the woman did. There really was no stopping her once she had begun her restless babble, but he didn’t mind. John really liked the sound of that — a beautiful song he never wanted to end. The woman seemed to enjoy herself as much as he did, despite the fact that she was shivering and he had no more layers to offer her. They spent quite some time on that boat, circling the pond, letting the water lead them wherever it wanted.

“Oi! You two! Get back!”

They jumped, and the boat lurched to the side. They gripped tightly the edge, doing their best to remain inside their wooden vehicle. John looked the other way, detaching his eyes from the brunette to try to figure out who was threatening their adventure. Afar, deep into the garden, he could make out the shadow of a man — probably the caretaker of the venue. They hadn’t noticed anyone on their way in, but maybe their laughter had drawn him towards them. The man was running towards the pond — yelling angrily, waving a broom as a weapon.

“I think we are in trouble.” He whispered, already angling the boat towards the solid ground.

“Big trouble.” The girl answered.

She bit her lip nervously and they laughed. 

They paddled their way back to the shore as quickly as they could. The caretaker was still far behind, running as quickly as he could. If they played well, they would be able to escape his anger. Or at least, he hoped. With the heavy rain, it was impossible that he would recognize them if they got inside in time. He hadn’t come to the wedding to be noticed that way. What would Rory think, if he ever found out? Oh, the hell with it! He was always serious, and for once, it felt good to let go. To be foolish again. He quickly eyed his companion, but the woman didn’t seem worried the slightest. No, she was giggling, bubbly and happy. And so was he.

After long minutes, the boat touched the grass, right where they had taken off and John jumped on the landing stage swiftly. He held out his hand to help her, especially since she was wearing her ridiculously high heels. They needed to be quick if they wanted to escape. She didn’t hesitate and trusted him with a leap of faith. She jumped into his arms, and he caught her against his chest, his hand resting on her waist to secure her. 

He froze. She did too. Their eyes met. They both held their breaths. The caretaker yelled behind them — breaking their moment and before he could think any further and without hesitation, he took her hand in his, and led them towards the building. They ran together, laughing, holding on to one another. They ran until they couldn’t breathe until their ribs burnt until Clara almost collapsed. They ran like kids, playing hide and seek. And it felt good. It felt good to be innocent again. John was happy.

They kicked open the door that led to the corridor they had both walked a few hours before, and took a moment to catch their breath, away from the caretaker. The Doctor let go of Clara’s hand as they stood side by side, wheezing. She was shaking with all her might, cold and wet and yet still smiling. He caught her glance and laughed some more at their foolishness. They both fell down on the ground, against the door, shoulders touching. It took them a couple of minutes to calm down from their rush, adrenaline still coursing their veins.

“I hadn’t laughed that way in so many years,” John admitted.

Actually, now that he thought about it — He had never laughed that way ever. Not even when he and Missy were kids. Not even with River, even though she could be quite funny. 

And here she was, this impossible girl, making him laugh, making him smile, making him feel like a goddamn child. He blushed profusely, suddenly aware of how irresponsible he had proven himself to be around her. She nudged him, smiling, tilting her head.

Her eyes met his. Her brown orbs were glistering with happy tears, while her face had regained some seriousness. Her lips were blue, she was shivering beyond reason. He took both of her hands into his in a desperate attempt to warm them. The friction should be enough to do so. She let him, staring at their joined hands dreamily.

“You never told me your name.” He blurted out, whispering.

“You never asked.” She replied.

He stared at her. They were close — so close. When had it happened? He would feel her breath on his face, could sense her entire being shaking from the cold. He plunged into her eyes, her big brown eyes, trying to decipher whatever was hidden in them.

They seemed to say: _I dare you. Ask me._

  
  


* * *

  
  


_I dare you to. Ask me_ , she thought.

Would he? He who seemed so shy and composed. Would he cave? She wanted him to. Did she? Oh, she was confused. All she knew was that she didn’t want the night to come to an end, that she wanted to keep running by his side. Clara was shaking, and she didn’t know if it was only the coldness to blame. Her eyes kept on studying him, trying to guess what he was thinking. Analyzing his features in search of the same bliss that she was feeling. He was confused, his eyebrows frowned but his eyes - oh those blue eyes conveyed nothing but kindness. She licked her lips, wondering how his curly hair would feel between her fingers if they actually were as soft as they looked. No, she shouldn’t be thinking that way. Was it the alcohol kicking in? The adrenaline? She didn’t know — She wanted to be reckless. She could easily close the gap between their lips if she wanted — After all, it was not like they were going to see each other again, wasn’t it? Would he want that? Would he allow her to, he who didn’t seem to run away from her touch anymore? Maybe — Maybe she could give it a try… She closed her eyes, ready to risk it all.

“Clara? Is that you? Clara, I was looking everywhere for you !”

Clara Oswald slightly jumped and opened her eyes in shock. Her heart was hammering inside of her chest and she took her hands away from John, who was startled. They hadn’t noticed the heels clicking loudly coming their ways — or maybe it was just her, too lost in the moment. A moment that was now gone. John was fumbling, rising, forgetting his manners and letting her get up on her own. His cheeks were red, his eyes bulging from their sockets. He looked absolutely dishevelled — poor man. 

They broke apart right before Amy Pond emerged from the room. Thank god, her dress had slowed her down — or else she would have walked in on something quite — unexpected. Would they have kissed? What would she have said? She sighed. There was no way of finding that out now. 

The bride stared at them quizzically, her eyebrows quirked in a silent question. _What the hell are you two doing?_ Her blue eyes stopped on the Doctor who was staring at his feet before moving to her. And then, a flash of anger.

Oh no. She was screwed.

“Oh my god, what the hell happened to you?” She said, coming closer to stare at her. Clara smiled shyly, shrugging. “Come on, let’s get you out of these clothes, you will catch your death.”

Before she could say anything, Amy grabbed her wrist and ushered her behind her. Clara had barely the time to turn around and address the poor Doctor one last smile. He was standing there, back against the door, frozen. He smiled back, shyly this time. His walls were back up. Amy had burst their little bubble — and now, they were back to square one. Pity, she thought. She had loved spending her night with him. She sighed and winced at her best friend’s forceful grip as she lost the Doctor out of sight. The bride was leading her through the hallways, deadly silent. The little castle they had rented for the wedding was now awfully quiet. What time was it? It hardly mattered. The brunette knew that there was an upcoming storm getting ready, and did her best to prepare herself as they quickly walked.

They found themselves in front of Clara’s room and entered. As soon as the door closed behind her, Amy fumbled with her bra, taking out her mobile from it, and texted quickly before crossing her arms. Rory, she thought. She was texting Rory.

“I am sorry — I didn’t mean…” Clara began, hoping that she would manage to defuse the tension.

_To ruin your wedding night. To make you sad. To worry you._

_It was only meant to be a couple of minutes. Not an entire night._

Amy stopped her and sighed. She took her time to circle Clara, observing her from head to toe before helping her get out of the Doctor’s coat. Oh god, his coat! She had stolen it! What would he think of her now? He had given it to her out of generosity… She shivered, feeling naked out of the Doctor’s coat. She had grown to appreciate the velvet, shielding her from the cold. The ginger helped her remove her soaked dress, and went to the bathroom to fetch a couple of towels to wrap her in. In the meantime, the brunette remained still, in her underwear, thinking of the ways she could give the clothing back to its owner. Maybe their paths would cross again the next morning at breakfast? She dared to dream. Amy cleared her throat, throwing towels at her, and Clara did her best to dry herself before slipping into her favourite pair of pyjamas. Her hair was still wet so she tied it in a short ponytail.

The two women sat on the edge of the bed. Clara let her head rest on her best friend’s shoulder, suddenly reminded of how late it was, and how exhausted she was. All the running, the emotions, the thrill of the chase was caught up with her. Her limbs were achy, her entire body too damn heavy to walk. It was a pleasant emptiness and she welcomed it.

“Where were you? I was worried sick about you… Scott was looking everywhere!” Amelia said, as calmly as she could.

Oh. Scott. She had forgotten all about him. How long had he waited? Oh, that was really bad. She hadn’t meant to behave like a petulant child during her best friend’s wedding party. She hadn’t meant to disappear. Had Amy really missed her? Clara let herself fall unto the mattress, holding a pillow against her face to hide away her shame. Amy didn’t seem all that mad that she had left — but she should have said something. Told someone where she was going at least. She had run away with a stranger. Anything could have happened... If it had been Amy in her place, Clara would have worried too. That was who they were. They had grown up together and had learnt how to look up after each other.

“I met the Doctor.”

Amy let herself fall unto the mattress next to her, still wearing her incredible gown. She quirked her perfectly trimmed eyebrows, confused, but her face relaxed as soon as she understood who they were talking about. Not many men could be referred to as The Doctor, and Rory had been talking about the man for years. They both stared at the ceiling, holding hands. The tension had eased — perhaps because they were both too tired to fight.

Clara told her about her night, evasively. Amelia listened, commenting from time to time. The ginger seemed to have a hard time believing that John Smith had talked to her for she had known him for years, and yet, the two of them had barely shared one conversation.

It was strange, given how easily he had bonded with her, agreeing to steal a boat and take her to an adventure.

“And you decided to elope with him? Under the rain? Do you realize how daft this was ?”

Clara chuckled. It sounded ridiculous when she put it that way. Eloping with a stranger — that was very much like those cheesy movies they loved to watch together, and yet, it hadn’t felt that way. It hadn’t been cheesy nor romantic. It had felt right, and thrilling. It had felt natural. They had bonded somehow, in their solitude. She had trusted him, had jumped in his open arms without thinking about it twice.

“No! It wasn’t like that.” She countered.

_It was exactly that. And yet so much more._

_It was a feeling she had been yearning for her entire life._

“How was it like, then?”

She kept on twiddling her lock of hair between her fingers, biting her lip. She wondered whether she should tell her best friend, tell her the entire story. What they had talked about. The way he had behaved towards her. The feeling of his hand holding hers. But Amy yawned, and Clara didn’t have the heart to bother her with it, at least not today. This was a story for another day — perhaps it was also one of those magnificent fairy tales she would have to keep her herself. Besides, today had been her best friend’s wedding — the day was hers and hers alone. Who was she to steal her thunder? 

“It was — exciting.” She replied simply, dreamily.

Amy sighed but remained lying next to her. They stayed quiet, lost in their thoughts. After a while, she left her alone to rest and she joined her husband — and quite honestly, she looked absolutely wrecked. Happy — but exhausted. Clara, on the other hand, pulled herself under the covers, still shaking with cold. She closed her eyes but didn’t manage to find any sleep. Her mind was still replaying the amazing evening she had spent with this handsome stranger.

She tossed and turned. She wondered what he had done when she had left. Had he gone to his room as well? Was he having trouble sleeping? Her eyes caught the coat, hanging on the radiator, drying.

Clara Oswald didn’t find sleep that night. So she got up early and took a nice warm shower. She washed her hair, applied some makeup. 

At nine, she joined all the other guests for breakfast. Scott walked past her and didn’t even say hi. She couldn’t care less. She sat near the door, making sure never to lose sight of the threshold. She waited. She waited until everybody left to pack.

He never came.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm currently looking for a beta reader for this story. If anyone is interested, please, let me know.  
> You can find me on twitter : @EvilMarie1, on Instagram @redsnow1_ !  
> Thank you so much !   
> Please, feel free to let me know what you thought of it.


End file.
